The spacious lobby bustled with activity. A receptionist sat at a circular desk and answered the phone in a constant, cheerful voice, “Hamilton, Hamilton, Bosie, and Taylor. How may I direct your call? Please hold.” In the ten minutes she’d sat there, Daisy hadn’t noticed a pause in the incoming calls.
Beside the receptionist, a uniformed guard gazed at half a dozen monitors and kept an eye on anyone who walked through the lobby. When she’d arrived, Daisy had asked to see Jason Taylor. She’d handed him her driver’s license, which he scanned with a hand scanner then directed her to the waiting area.
She contemplated going to the bathroom, but she worried Jason would come down when she was gone, so she waited. Nerves tingled up her arms and across the back of her neck. What did she have to worry about, though? He loved her.
Didn’t he?
The elevator doors opened, and Jason came out. She stood as he walked toward her, a frown covering his face, pulling his dark eyebrows together. He wore a gray suit with a red and yellow striped tie. “Daisy?” He looked around as he approached, scanning the crowd in the lobby. “What are you doing here?”
Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton then dried it with a hot air gun. She tried to swallow but thought she’d gag from the effort. “Jason,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Thank goodness you’re here. I tried to call.”
“You know I’m not available on Tuesdays.” He put a hand on her elbow and steered her toward the exit. “I’ll call you when I’m free.”
When she realized he didn’t intend to talk to her, she dug her heels in, abruptly stopping them. “No. This is important.”
He looked around again, his brown eyes darting around like a cornered cat. “What?”
Confused, she jerked her arm free. “Can we talk in your office or something?”
“Of course not!”
She flinched back as if he’d struck her. “What’s wrong with you, Jason?”
As if he suddenly realized how out of character he had just acted, he relaxed. His face smoothed out, his demeanor changed, his mouth moved in a small smile. “Nothing, Daisy. I’m just incredibly busy. I have court in an hour.” He straightened his tie, and she gasped out loud when she saw his hand—the one with the wedding band; the wedding band she’d never seen before. He didn’t notice. “Is it so important it can’t wait until our date on Thursday?”
She narrowed her eyes as she frowned, and she took a full step back away from him. Pieces of a previously unseen puzzle started to fall into place. Answers to questions she didn’t even realize she’d asked popped up. “Why Thursday? Does your wife leave town or something?”
He froze, his hand on the knot of his tie, his mouth partially open. Finally, he said, “As a matter of fact, yes. She leaves on Thursday mornings for our practice in Charlotte and comes home Saturday nights. I assumed you knew.”
When she realized she stood there gaping, she slowly closed mouth, remembering every word he’d ever spoken to her. She could hear his voice as he talked about their future, how much he loved her, how he longed to be with her forever.
He continued speaking. “Hamilton, Hamilton, Bosie, and Taylor. She’s Hamilton. Hamilton-Taylor, actually, but we kept the firm name the same just for simplicity’s sake.”
“Simplicity’s sake?” Was she dreaming? Dare she pinch herself? She exhaled slowly. “You never once said you were married. Never even hinted at it. In fact, what you did was talk about us getting married. Have you conveniently forgotten about that?”
His relaxed facade disappeared, and his eyes started darting around again. “Listen, we cannot talk here.”
“Then maybe you should have answered your phone.”
“Daisy, I need you to—”
“I’m pregnant, Jason.”
He stopped moving again. He just stared at her, immobile, for one heartbeat, then two. At last, he asked, “And?”
With the air escaping her lungs, she repeated his question. “And?”
“And why are you telling me?”
It had to be a dream. She’d wake up tomorrow and wonder what part of her subconscious created this absurd scenario. “You’re going to be a daddy, Jason Taylor. Just think. Sometime the last week of February. Isn’t that something to get excited about?” She wondered if he’d hear the sarcasm in her voice, if he’d pick up on the subtleties of her fury. “Or are you already a father?”
He glanced over his shoulder then looked back at her. “You need to leave. Please spare yourself the indignity of having security remove you.”
Security? With her heart beating furiously in her ears, she stepped closer to him and spoke very low. “Jason, I am pregnant. With your child. Yours. I didn’t know you were married. I thought you loved me.” Her breath hiccupped, and she paused. He opened his mouth to speak, but she held a hand up to stop him. “I need to know what we’re going to do now.”
His eyes glinted with irritation. “What we’re going to do is take care of that pregnancy. Wipe it away. I’m not going to have you ruin what I’ve spent a lifetime achieving. If you need a name, I can recommend someone.”
Gasping for a clean breath of air that didn’t contain his cloying aftershave, she took a step back, then another. “You don’t mean—”
“That is exactly what I mean, and exactly where I stop. I can give you some money. End of my part in this.”
Her mind whirled with words, accusations. She mentally screamed at him in two languages. Finally, she said, “I’m not going to get an abortion.”
He glanced toward the door as it opened and looked at her again. “I guess that’s your choice. Isn’t that the word bandied about? Choice? Do what you want. I want nothing to do with it.”
“Then put it in writing,” she snapped.
A confused frown covered his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Put it in writing. Remove your claim to this child. Legally.”
“Fine.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll have the papers drawn up.”
“Great.” She gestured toward the chair she’d just vacated. “I’ll wait.”
“I can’t do it here.”
Daisy walked over to the chairs and sat down. He took the chair next to her and turned his body toward hers. “I can’t prepare the papers. Someone will see them. I’ll have to have someone else do them in another practice.”
“Great.” She smiled, despite the rolling mass of emotions trying to destroy her from the inside. “I’ll wait.” He huffed and surged to his feet. As he started to walk away, she added, “If security tries to remove me, I’m happy to ask your wife to draw up the papers.”
He cursed at her under his breath, but she heard the word. As soon as she saw the elevator doors close behind him, she pushed a fisted hand against her mouth and closed her eyes, praying for strength to get through the length of time it would take him to come back down with paperwork that would terminate any right he had to her baby.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she furiously swiped at it. She would not cry over him or his lies. She would not mourn something that never actually existed in the first place.
Definitely not a mountaintop moment.
As she sat there, she analyzed every moment ever spent with Jason. What clues had she ignored? Why had she not seen his true character? How had she gotten to this point?
She’d met him at a fundraiser for Gálatas Seis. He’d completely swept her off her feet, dancing with her all night long, attentively listening to her, acting interested in the mission for which she had so much passion. She told him about houses they’d built, homes they’d restored, stories about school supplies, stocking groceries into empty cupboards, supplying new mothers with cribs and diapers. He’d acted interested, insisting on donating money whenever she had an unexplained need arise. He even offered to join the board of directors the next time they had a seat open. Worst of all, he’d talked about their future, a future working together to make Atlanta and the surrounding community a better place for everyone, regardless of economic status.
Basically, he’d lied his way into sleeping with her. He’d tricked her. He’d made her believe him and give herself to him in a way she’d never done before with anyone.
Shame overwhelmed her. Little lights danced in front of her eyes, and no matter how deeply she breathed, it felt like no oxygen reached her lungs. Just when she thought she’d burst to her feet and run screaming from the building, a rail-thin woman with jet black hair and dark-framed glasses approached her carrying a manila envelope.
“Daisy Ruiz?” she inquired.
Daisy stood. “Yes.”
She thrust the envelope toward her. “Mr. Hamilton asked me to deliver this to you.”
With shaking hands, she took it and opened the flap. She pulled the paper out, and the woman started to walk away. “Wait,” she said, “Let me make sure it’s what I need.”
The woman spun on her spiky heels and crossed her arms, clearly put out by the errand. Daisy scanned the document, making sure he’d hidden no clauses that could harm her in the future. As far as her legal eye could ascertain, everything appeared above-board.
“All set?” the woman asked.
“Yes. This will do.” The woman rolled her eyes and spun around, crossing the lobby to the elevators. Daisy turned, clutching the envelope, and walked back out into the Georgia summer.
What could she do now?
Nothing brought Kenneth “Ken” Dixon more happiness than bringing a home up out of the ground. The designing of the plans, working with the engineers, watching the earth breaking under the site work contractor’s machinery—it all gave him a sense of anticipation that thrilled him. Brick by brick, stone by stone, plank of wood by plank of wood, the material didn’t change the feeling. Twelve hundred square feet or twelve thousand, the size didn’t matter. His joy came from watching the house emerge, the details going into the molding, the laying of intricate tile work, the gleaming of new fixtures and appliances.
Today, as he surveyed the faces staring back at him from the conference room table, he acknowledged that as much as he loved the process of building houses, he hated this part of his job. As the residential division manager for Dixon Contracting and Design, he regularly led meetings with project managers, architects, and engineers, even though he would rather just build.
Today, as on every last Monday of the month, the team discussed the status of the three hundred and thirteen residential properties currently planned, in design, or under construction. They had forty-two Dixon designed neighborhoods and five multi-unit apartment complexes under construction in various parts of the southeast. Individual homes with individual contracts took up the remainder.
Ken could remember details, owners’ names, budgets, and contractors under each contract with ease. He could get all of these reports in writing, which would aid him in the details. However, his brother Brad, the president of Dixon Contracting and Design, insisted that every department hold monthly status report meetings on set days the last week of every month. Department heads staggered the times of the meetings so that Brad could attend them all.
He looked at Ian Jones, one of the mechanical engineers employed by the company, and said, “I guess we should get the bad news out of the way first. Talk to me about the HVAC issues with the HUD complex in Albany.”
Ian nodded and tapped the screen on his tablet, accessing the appropriate file. An email appeared on the screen behind him. “The owner’s project manager insists that the HVAC is coming in about fifty percent higher than what he budgeted. All the value engineering I can do will only bring it down about twenty percent. I don’t know where he got his numbers or if he just underestimated the size of unit needed. I haven’t met with him yet, but I’ll be in Albany next Thursday. I want to meet with him in person.”
Ken nodded. “Want some company?”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t think we need it escalated to the point of having a Dixon present yet, but I can call you on my way back from Albany and let you know how it went.”
Ken looked at his agenda and made a checkmark next to Albany. “Good enough. Let’s see what’s next.”
An hour later, he headed out of the conference room into the sanctuary of his office. His assistant, Toby MacDonald, sat at the desk in front of Ken’s office door. “That’s done for another month,” he said as he walked past Toby’s desk.
Toby had attended Ken’s family church as a high school student. He’d come to a youth gathering his freshman year with a girlfriend and had fallen in love with the community. Toby approached Ken one night as he prepared for his high school graduation and told him he longed to become a mechanical engineer but had no means for school. He had asked if Dixon contracting had any kind of tuition assistance for employees.
Three years later, Toby had marked the halfway point through school. Ken had never had a more efficient assistant and enjoyed the fact that Toby didn’t feel any need to engage in chit-chat. Every blissfully short conversation they shared came with a point. Ken had also never met a more detail-oriented person and knew he would make a phenomenal engineer when he graduated. Toby had signed a five-year contract beginning upon graduation to repay his tuition assistance. He knew the young man would become nothing less than an asset to their engineering division.
“Cool. Don’t forget your lunch appointment,” Toby said.
“Right. The local charity. What’s the name again?”
Toby nodded once, sharply. “Gálatas Seis. I think this might be a one-on-one with their director, but I don’t know for sure. Their director of fundraising reached out to you through a contact at Samaritan’s Purse.”
As a rule, Ken prioritized charitable work. Toby knew it. “Did you email me the address?”
“Texted. And I gave you an extra hour in your day. Oh, and don’t forget I have the first day of the summer semester at three today.”
“Right. Have a good first day.” Ken turned to enter his office but then paused and turned back to his assistant. “Your mom take a first day of school picture?”
Ken thought that if he didn’t have such dark skin, he would’ve seen the flush that certainly covered Toby’s cheeks. “Come on, man.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of mothers, your mom had me clear your morning through early afternoon tomorrow. I backed your first appointment up to two.”
Ken nodded and went into his office, letting the door shut behind him. He pulled his phone out of his desk drawer and turned it on. Immediately, a text from his mom appeared. Today, his brother Jon came home from a two-year project he had worked on in Nashville, and she wanted everyone at Ken’s lake house tomorrow for family fishing and lunch in lieu of the regular Wednesday night family dinner.
He chuckled, realizing his mother planned for him to host the family tomorrow, whether he’d known about it or not. After sending a reply that he would see them tomorrow, he spent the next hour updating all of his personal reporting with the information he had received in the meeting today. Once he finished compiling his notes, he opened the file on his personal project. For the last two years, he and Brad had completely remodeled and renovated an old apartment complex built in the seventies. They neared the end of the project and had a buyer interested in purchasing it. After running all the final numbers, he realized they would make about thirty percent more than their original investment. Not bad if you didn’t count the thousands of hours they put into physical labor in the remodel. Even after supplies and contractors, they still made a hefty profit.
He picked up the phone and dialed his brother’s extension. Brad’s assistant Sami picked up on the first ring. “Brad Dixon’s office.”
“Hey, Sami. Ken. Is my brother there?”
“Sure thing.”
The hold music barely started when Brad picked up. “Hey.”
“Hey. I emailed you an offer we got on the apartments. The owner met our asking price.” Brad whistled in his ear. “Yeah. That’s about what I said. I’m going to accept it, but it’s still a contingent offer since we still have one more unit to finish.”
“We can finish that in two weeks.”
“Yep.” He looked at his watch and stood. “I’m on my way to meet up with that local charity. They’re looking for someone to sponsor a build-a-house-in-a-day thing.”
“Well, that’s a meeting you’ll enjoy.”
“Can I speak on behalf of us, or just me?”
“Get me the numbers, but I’m confident Dixon Contracting can do it. Jon and I can swing hammers at the very least.”
Their parents had raised them to make missions work a priority in their lives. They went on an annual mission trip for several weeks a year, always picking different locations around the world. On a local level, they contributed to their community through their church and other charitable organizations. Ken knew a good portion of that came from his own personal convictions and the way he pressed his brothers to participate. He also knew that they didn’t mind. “Hopefully, I’ll come out of this meeting with all the details.”
“Great.”
On his way out, he stopped at Toby’s desk. “Forward my office extension to my cell and pass any need-be items straight to me. You enjoy that first day of school. See you in the morning.”
“Thanks. See you,” Toby said, picking up the ringing phone. “Ken Dixon’s office,” he said. Ken didn’t stick around.
The directions took him to a strip mall anchored to a chain grocery store. He checked the suite number and found the sign for Gálatas Seis centered between a family dentist and a take-out Chinese restaurant.
When he walked in the door, a young woman in her twenties with mousy brown hair and big blue eyes greeted him. As he came through the door, she paused typing on her keyboard and turned her chair to face him completely. “How may I help you?”
“Ken Dixon with Dixon Contracting. I have an appointment with someone here today.”
She raised both eyebrows and asked, “Do you know with whom?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. No. Didn’t make the appointment. Your fundraising department contacted us through another ministry.”
Just then, a woman came around a partition. She had rich black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin the color of warm caramel. She wore a bright red sleeveless top and white Capri pants. “Bev, Irene just sent me a message that she set up a…”
She stopped in her tracks and stared up at him. “Ken? Ken Dixon?”
Hearing his name threw him. She could have recognized him from any number of events that would put her ministry in his path, but no one could tell him apart from his brothers except their mother and Brad’s wife. Maybe she saw his name on an appointment calendar. That would make sense. “Yep. Ken Dixon.”
He extended his hand, and she hesitated only slightly before placing hers in his. “Wow. Ken! Oh, my goodness. Ken Dixon. I haven’t seen you since high school.”
Keeping her hand in his, he stared into her brown eyes and tried to place her. Something about her felt very familiar; something about her voice, the shape of her chin, and the name of this place. Finally, a spark went off in his mind. “Daisy? Daisy Ruiz?”
He grinned. She had practically grown up with him. He spent many, many hours in her basement with her older brother Diego and their father. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize the name. Gálatas Seis. This was, what? Your grandparents’? Didn’t your grandfather start this?”
When she pulled her hand from his, he realized he’d still held it. She nodded and smiled a smile that filled the room with light. “Yes! Twenty years ago. I’ve taken over the position of Executive Director for the last year now.”
A slow smile covered his face. “That is amazing. It’s so good to see you.” He gestured at the woman she had called Bev. “I was just telling Bev, here, I had a meeting today but didn’t know who with.”
She held up her phone. “That’s so funny. I had a message that Irene had set up a meeting, but I didn’t know who with.” She laughed. “Well, follow me.”
She took him around the partition. He could make out three different workspaces, all partitioned off. She gestured to the door, and he followed her into a break room with a small table and three chairs.
“How did you get into doing this?”
She opened a cupboard and grabbed a folder. “My grandparents agreed to pay for my law school with the understanding that I would take over the charity for five years once I passed the bar. So, here I am.”
“Passed the bar?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m a real-life lawyer.”
“Wow.” Ken could not stop smiling. “How many people do you have working for you here?”
“Well, lots. But many are volunteers. Bev out there is part-time. Irene and I are the only full-time employees. She handles fundraising. I take care of the legalities of everything we’re doing and set up all of our projects. We have an executive board that meets monthly and chooses our projects.”
She set the folder in front of him, pulled the chair out, and sat down across from him. He glanced at the press kit but didn’t study it. “My message was that this was to help you with a build a house-in-a-day project.”
“Oh. The message I had wasn’t detailed. We are looking for sponsors who can help with the materials and equipment needed to build a house on Labor Day weekend. We have a family of six that are in deplorable conditions and had a major contributor pull the funding kind of at the last minute.”
He watched her facial expression and saw the discomfort around her mouth and eyes. He was tempted to dig into the reasons why this particular sponsor made her so uncomfortable but thought he should probably stay on task.
She smelled very good.
He tried to drag his brain back to the topic of conversation. “What are the project specifics?”
“We’re scrambling to get sponsors. But this is so last minute. We’re just a couple months away.” She pulled out her phone and swiped at the screen, then read off the numbers for equipment and supplies.
The numbers sounded very low to Ken. “Are you getting special deals through the suppliers and equipment rental places?”
She nodded. “We work hard to minimize cost. We use a lot of recovered materials from demolition sites. Like, a lot. Most places sell us new materials at a fraction above cost. This is a charitable donation for them. We worked with several of these places for years.”
Ken crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair. He liked the way she let everything she felt show on her face. He found that incredibly refreshing. He didn’t want this meeting to end. He wanted to keep talking to this woman. Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
She gasped. Her eyes widened, and she sat back almost as if pushed by force. “I, uhh…”
Disappointment crept along the back of his neck. “Sorry. You’re seeing someone.”
“Uh…” Daisy opened and closed her mouth as if she didn’t know what to say.
“Course you are. Look at you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, and half chuckled. “No.”
“‘No,’ you’re not beautiful? Don’t start a fight with me, here, Daisy.” He could hardly stop looking at her lips.
“No. I mean, I’m not seeing anyone.”
Ken felt every molecule of air that filled his lungs. “Good. Dinner it is.”
“Ken, I just don’t think…”
“Good. Thinking gets in the way of good things sometimes. Have dinner with me, Daisy. I can tell you want to.”
He was teasing, of course. He could tell she didn’t want to. But he wanted to for the first time in his life. Finally, she said, “Okay. Sure. I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night.”
“That’s great. Can’t wait.” He grinned and tapped the folder. “As for your project, consider your cost met. Dixon Contracting and Design will fully fund this project.”
She sucked in a breath and asked, “Fully?”
He nodded, enjoying the look on her face. He felt like he could sit and talk to her all day long. But he really, desperately wanted to escape so he could analyze these strange feelings he had from the moment she came out from behind the partition. He stood and asked, “Pick you up at seven?”
She nodded. “Yeah, sure. Seven is great.” She stood as well. “I suppose you need my address.”